Well today marks a month until I leave Central Asia. It did't hut me until Angelas mom (mum...) made a joke about it. But it really hit home that time is flying. I keep on feeling like I'm on top of everything, but then I blink and another week has gone and I feel no more ready to leave (although I did manage to sell a few things this week). If you are a supporter, you'll see a much more in depth version of this post, so please do consider becoming a supporter get those posts (they will also be emailed to you).
One thing that I've been thinking about is what the word 'home' really means:
In an earthy sense, I'm leaving home and I'll be 'homeless' until I get a decision from the US government about my visa application. But as I mourn the 'loss' of this home, I'm reminded that this world is not my permanent home. Our place here is a tent, while we wait for our resurrection to glory and when we exchange our tents for buildings not made of human hands. I'm extremely thankful for my time here, and I get the feeling that this isn't the end of my journey here. I'm thankful for the lessons I've learned here, even the painful ones, I'm thankful for the growth I've experienced, the friends I've made, the team I've worked with, even the uncertainties of the pandemic and the political turmoil, because of how I have seen God powerfully at work. I can't talk about homelessness without mentioning the devastation we are seeing in Afghanistan. God we are broken for that country, for its citizens who are now morning the loss of their country, for those who find themselves in strange countries while missing those who were left behind, for families broken up, for all who are drowning in hopelessness. May you break powerfully in to that country in to those people, may your justice and mercy become the banner under which that country lives. Amen
Thanks for taking the time to read this, and to stand in prayer with me.
Keep your eyes out for none updates soon!